Bottle of Daphne
by Justanothersinger
Summary: For a literal immortal, time held no meaning. He'd longed stopped caring about consequences. He'd suffered enough, hadn't he? Sequel to Only Us Two and Part 2 of the Poor Little Daydreamer Series. USUK Doppleganger AU


Bottle of Daphne

A Hetalia fanfiction

For a literal immortal, time held no meaning.

England had observed this. Seen it for himself in his comrades. The older countries like him barely even kept track of days, weeks or even months. The only reason they even remembered the concept of keeping time at all was because of world meetings.

They honestly didn't know what to do with themselves in the days in-between. They didn't know much aside from the uneasy tension of war, fighting amongst old friends and enemies on a battlefield of the dead.

He hated those days.

He hates them even more now.

Days where he can blend in the crowd, a 'human' amongst humans.

He knows exactly what to do. Where to go.

He knows that someone is waiting for him now.

The thought leaves a bad taste in England's mouth.

This entire situation was fucking ridiculous. The brand of strange things that usually permeated the stories that his fairy friends told him. The legends of a werewolf who fetched fish for the poor, women who screamed when someone was about to die, green men and women that haunted forests at night, searching for humans for some reason or the other.

An immortal man getting his heart broken by another and settling for his love's doppelgänger?

Sounds like it belongs right up there on the list.

But this wasn't a fairy tale book and his magic could only save him from so much.

"Hey."

The same voice. It sounds so...strange to him.

America never sounded so scared, so excited to talk to him.

"I thought you wouldn't show up."

"I have for the past two weeks." England points out, "Why should I stop now?"

"You kept looking like you wanted to bolt on me every time?"

"Surely not all the time?" England asks, a smirk on his face, "Even while in bed?"

"Nope, not then." Alfred says with a straight face, "I can guarantee that."

England laughs. It felt like the first time in months. Probably was, too.

"Why don't we confirm it?"

Alfred nods. The change in conversation tone was sudden, but he's used to it already.

There was no point in pretending there was anything else to this.

England hesitates, before he leans in for a kiss.

He falls in headfirst from there. As always, as he always did.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Each meeting is a blur of kisses, heat and sweat on his lips, a wet warmth, the sharpness of teeth.

Nips on his neck, kisses from on his hair and eyelids, before they start to dip into something a bit more, a bit more, the mood shifts and each touch becomes less innocent. He's slammed against the wall with nary any ceremony, whatever air's left in his lungs is taken away with a greedy kiss and he can't even complain because he loves this.

It makes him feel wanted. Needed. By someone else that didn't need to put up with him for blood or war's sake.

Clothes torn off of him with a force that almost frightened him, but the greedy fingers sliding under fabric were his own. He touches him the way he's always wanted to and the warmth felt better than he could have ever imagined it.

A last sweet, passionate kiss before Alfred starts to move.

England knows what to do, has experienced it before, but just looking at that face made his mind draw a blank. He's terrified, terrified even after all this time, but he grits his teeth and moves back against Alfred. Hips grinding into hips, shortening the distance between them as much as possible and still it was not enough, not enough, oh god, not after all this time.

Alfred brushes the tears off his cheek and buries his face in the crook of England's neck. Groans as England claws his way down Alfred's back, new red scratches joining old ones and England moans as he feels that exhilarating flutter in his gut as teeth met his skin. Marking him where Alfred had marked him before, a constellation of want.

It's him, it's _him_ consuming England with the hunger of a man in lust.

If this was a dream, it would be a nightmare. The hallucinatory kind, with the poisonous want in his blood almost guaranteeing him an early death.

And England never wanted to wake up.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Something's different. He's different.

America can't put his finger on it.

It's like he's a kid again and staring at a pile of little jigsaw puzzle pieces. Lots of pieces, tiny pieces, that all added up to something that he couldn't place. And the longer he stared at it, the more the colours started to blend and the longer he took to try to put each piece in its place.

And right now, he was facing one hell of a puzzle.

It's not like he ever understood England completely in the first place. The man had raised him ever since he was a kid, the other nations had said, America knew him better than England's actual brothers.

Yeah, that was true. But somehow, America felt that it was the other way around.

For one thing, England still considers him a child. Which he was not; while he wanted to enjoy himself wherever possible-acting all grown-up all the time was tiring-he did take matters seriously when they needed to be taken seriously.

And because England considers him a child, there were things he didn't tell him.

Such as the fact that England no longer established contact with his family.

Or the fact that he preferred men over women.

Which was completely fine with America; a hero understood and protected all beings equally after all. But it was still kind of a shock to him when he found out.

How did he even find out in the first place? England was painfully obvious about this sort of thing.

When he had someone he liked, he'd have his head in the clouds. More than usual.

He'd fall asleep in random places, have bags under his eyes. A typical romantic who lost his sleep over the guy. He didn't eat much either and his cooking...

America shudders.

His cooking actually became _bearable._

Back then, America thought the world had been ending but now...

He glances up.

...Why couldn't this time be like all those other times?

"Late as always." England scoffs.

Why did America have to get involved?

"Yohoo, sorry I'm late! Tony and I had to go visit his home planet and settle some business!" America says in a voice that sounded more cheerful than he felt.

Lost in a memory of a rainy night, with England standing before him, absolutely drenched.

 _"I never loved you. Not once."_

Why did America say that?

Because it was true.

"You look worse than usual today, England!"

"Shut up! I had to finish off some work, so I stayed up the night!"

England believed that it was true.

So let him believe it for a while longer.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

When the meeting's over, America goes back to wandering the streets.

It's quiet at night. Even with all the people around.

It's a bit too quiet for him, though.

Lost in his thoughts, America almost missed it.

Almost.

He stops.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see England.

He turns his head around just as England leans close to someone, head tilted up and-

...

England was...kissing them. On the lips.

He pulls back and America hides his face quickly under his hood. The hooded figure leans in and whispers in England's ear with a strange sort of intimacy that made America uncomfortable.

"What are you asking me to do? We're in a public place!" England scolds him, a typical reaction of his.

But he's smiling.

America had never seen him smile like that. It looks weird on him.

Weird.

This feeling...it grips his chest tight and it hurts to breathe. It's strange.

And it was all because of that person.

America frowns.

Who in the world was that?

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

 **I'll definitely continue this**

 **probably**

 **well im still getting into characterization itll take a while but I will do it!**

 **thanks for reading!**

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x


End file.
